If You Need Me
by cherishiskisa
Summary: Gabriel was dead. There were charred wings on the floor and that meant he wasn't coming back. But one day, when Sam and Dean are separated and battling at least ten demons each, he shows back up. Hopefully to stay.


There's about ten of them, and Sam's starting to think he won't survive this battle.

Oh, he's splashing the holy water around with one hand, and doing the same thing with salt in the other, and normally he wouldn't be worried about facing down ten or so demons, but Dean's locked in the other room with a few of his own to fight.

So Sam's getting more than a little worried.

One of the demons steps a little close, nicks Sam's right arm with her knife (what the fuck? Since when do _demons _carry knives?) and, with a hiss of pain, he flings a few drops of holy water her way, sending her reeling back.

He's also running low on holy water.

A demon circles around behind him, kicking him in the back of the knees so his legs buckle and he falls to the ground. He's up again in a second, but a couple more demons have gotten in still closer, baring their teeth in vicious smiles as they prepare to tear Sam limb from limb.

Sam starts to say his final prayers in his head.

Before, this wouldn't have been an issue. Facing down demons in large numbers.

But that was before Gabriel had died.

Before, Gabriel would have just snapped his fingers once or twice and exorcised the lot, and would turn down Sam and Dean's words of gratitude by saying something along the lines of, "No problem. Keeps me from getting bored anyway." He'd been hanging out with them a whole lot for a few weeks; showing up at awkward moments, saying obnoxious things, leaving candy wrappers everywhere—but also saving the brothers from demons, telling them the secret weaknesses of the monster-of-the-week, adding more powerful protection symbols to the ones carved by Castiel into their ribs. Sure, he was annoying most of the time and Sam still kinda held a grudge after all of the Tuesdays and TV Land, but he was actually pretty great to spend time around. His narcissism was kind of endearing sometimes. And he really was very useful, and clearly cared a lot about the brothers. Which was incredibly counter-intuitive, considering how he'd treated them previously. But he'd apologized for that, too, and Sam was, by nature, a pretty forgiving person. So he put up with the sticky finger-prints on his computer and laughed at Gabriel's awful jokes and just generally appreciated the company.

Not that Sam would ever tell Dean he thought that way (because Dean, no matter how many times Gabriel saved their sorry asses—to use his words—couldn't stand him. Ever).

But then Gabriel had died.

And Sam and Dean were on their own again. With no guardian angel and with no friend.

And now, Sam and Dean are in different rooms, separated by heavy, dead-bolted doors, each fighting around ten demons.

Things are looking pretty bleak for the Winchesters.

Sam allows the demons to move in a little, hitting a few with some salt, hitting a few with some holy water. It's half-hearted, though, because he's growing tired and loses his focus for one second. He can almost hear the snap of bones as one of the more powerful demons raises a lazy hand and slams him against the wall. Everything is suddenly numb in his body, and he braces himself, ready for the pain to set in.

But then he's falling to the ground, gasping for breath, and there's another shape in the room, in between him and the demons like a shield, assuming a defensive posture.

"Cover your eyes!" the man with his back to Sam yells.

Sam straightens up from the ground a little. He knows that voice. He knows that posture. He knows—"Gabriel?"

"I said—" The man turns his head to Sam, and it's Gabriel, and he's glorious. His eyes are lit up, glowing silvery-white, shining so bright it almost hurts, and his hair is swirling around his face, and he's an _archangel_, and he's glorious. "Cover your eyes."

Sam knows better than to argue, though it's hard to tear his gaze away when he's finally seeing Gabriel—or someone that looks just like him—for what he really is, and buries his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, just in time.

There's a white flash, and even Sam, though his eyes are closed and covered, winces at the brightness. There's a rushing sound and the sound of bodies falling, and the light fades.

"You can open your eyes now."

Sam does. And he stares.

Because—because—it's Gabriel. It's at the very least his vessel. And for a second, Sam doesn't even question his resurrection, even though his wings were charred on the floor, because it's Gabriel and he's the Trickster and the God of Mischief. If anyone could evade death, he could. Sam had considered that possibility after Gabriel had been stabbed by Lucifer, but after many months passed with no word from the archangel, he'd given up hope and he had mourned.

But in the next second, Sam remembers shape-shifters and he remembers demons and he remembers every bad thing that this Gabriel could possibly be, and he doesn't dare smile.

"G-gabriel?"

He figures he should ask again, even though he knows that whatever this thing is won't tell the truth.

A single eyebrow, quirked up. One corner of the mouth twitching upwards into an achingly familiar lazy smirk. Glittering, golden eyes. "Hiya."

Sam can't help it, he starts to smile. But he clenches his lips tighter and refuses, instead allowing his mouth to twitch at the sides as he tries to hold in his joy. Because it's probably not Gabriel that's standing in front of him in a roomful of exorcised demons, and he doesn't want to get his hopes up.

"So anyway," probably-not-Gabriel says, unhooking his thumbs from his belt loops—_oh, God, that's how Gabriel used to stand_—and taking a few steps in. "We can do the whole hugging and crying and 'nice to see you I'm glad you're not dead' thing once you and Dean are back at your motel. Room 34, right?" And before Sam can even ask how the hell this thing knows where they're staying, probably-not-Gabriel has brought two slim fingers together in a snap and, with a rushing sound in his ears, Sam finds himself sitting on his motel bed, alone.

A flailing, angry Dean appears on the next bed a couple of seconds later, looking around him everywhere in panic, searching for the source of this unexpected teleportation.

And then probably-not-Gabriel shows up in another few seconds, wiping his hands on his worn jeans, making the "ew, I hate interacting with demons this early in the morning" face that Sam knows so well. He sighs and leans against the wall, about to relax completely, when Dean springs up from the bed with a growl, reaching for his knife.

"What are you?" he snarls, bringing the knife up to the pulsing vein in probably-not-Gabriel's throat.

"Relax," the other man intones, pushing Dean off him with surprising ease, given his size. "Cut me up all you want. Whatever. It really is me."

"Prove it," Dean hisses.

The guy huffs. "Yeah, brilliant idea, thanks. However, if I do that, you'll just cut me up some more, 'cause you hate me. And wouldn't want me to be still alive. So. I'd really rather not."

Sam stands at that, hands hanging limply and uselessly at his sides. He couldn't use them against Gabriel's vessel or anything that looked remotely like it if he tried. "Please," he asks hoarsely. "Please. I—I need to know."

Probably-not-Gabriel looks him up and down, something like pity written on his face, along with something else entirely, that expression completely unrecognizable. "As you wish, Sammy boy." Something just under Sam's sternum twists at the nickname, but he says nothing as probably-not-Gabriel extends an arm with an annoyed exhalation and waits. Dean shoots a glance at Sam and draws the silver knife across a white stretch of elbow, and probably-not-Gabriel winces at the sensation but doesn't burn.

"So. Not a shape-shifter," Dean says, casting the knife aside and reaching for his vial of holy water.

"But I showered this morning," probably-not-Gabriel complains, seeing it, and is promptly replied to by a mouthful of the liquid. He splutters, but has no reaction other than that.

"And not a demon," Dean says, frowning at the man.

Who is no longer probably-not-Gabriel but just… Gabriel.

"Gabriel, then," Dean intones, turning away with a bitter twist to his mouth. "You came back from the dead to annoy us. Very considerate, thanks."

"Annoy you?" Gabriel—_it's Gabriel, it's Gabriel, it's really him, he's back_—repeats. "Um, correct me if I'm wrong, but I just saved your sorry asses."

And that seals it for Sam, because that was a phrase Gabriel used all of the time, and before he knows it he's crossed the room in two large strides and has enveloped the shorter man in a tight hug. "Welcome back," he says into Gabriel's hair, inhaling the scent that only Gabriel has ever had, because who the hell else in the whole universe would ever smell like peaches and patchouli all at once?

He can feel Gabriel's smile against his chest as the archangel raises an arm—the one that isn't pinned in between him and Sam—and curls it around Sam's back, hugging him back for a warm second, before Dean coughs and Sam pulls away.

"It's good to be back," Gabriel says.

"The hell took you so long?" Sam asks, almost petulantly.

"What, you're actually glad to see him?" Dean demands. "I thought you hated him, too."

"Ouch," Gabriel laughs. "Glad to see my fan club missed me." After a beat, in which Sam tries not to smile and Dean tries not to punch Gabriel in the face, Gabriel starts talking again. "I was filling out resurrection paperwork, obviously. It's a total bitch."

"There's paperwork for that?" Dean asks, incredulous.

Gabriel counts on his fingers. "There's basic resurrection, there's vessel refurbishment, there's wing re-issue, there's a minor fee, there's a series of forms that ask for Earth-leave in increasing intervals, and Grace detoxes. Took me a few Earth months. I wasn't really keeping track, sorry."

Sam can't tell if Gabriel is being serious or not, but he decides to accept that explanation for the time being. "And you couldn't even be bothered to call?"

"Sorry, my phone died," Gabriel says absently and pushes past Sam to the window, pulling the curtains closed. "Did you know that you're being followed?"

Sam and Dean exchange looks. "Who by?" Sam asks.

"Demons, obviously," Gabriel sighs, perching on the windowsill and swinging his legs back and forth. "From the same little group as the guys I just exorcised for you."

"And they're following us," Dean clarifies.

Gabriel nods, but his face isn't serious. "But their leader just left town, so they'll start falling apart pretty soon. Don't worry about them."

"Kinda hard not to worry, when they just broke both my arms," Dean says harshly.

Gabriel stares pointedly at the arms in question, and Dean flushes ever so slightly. "That's gratitude for you, I guess," Gabriel huffs. "All the thanks I get for saving your lives over and over is just a little bit of extra blood gathering in the face."

"Thank you, Gabriel," Sam cuts in over Dean's muttered protests, and smiles warmly at the archangel on the windowsill.

"You're very welcome, Sammich," Gabriel says, shooting a warning look in Dean's direction. That same thing under Sam's sternum curls upwards when Gabriel calls him that, and he, too, flushes a little and looks away.

"So how does this work, then?" Dean begins, sitting down at the only table in the room. "Back to the old ways? You show up whenever you feel like it and whenever we don't? Or are you going AWOL again?"

Gabriel shrugs, hopping down from the windowsill. "Figured I'd stick around on Earth for a little bit more. See how I like it again. Times have changed since I died, so—"

"Stay," Sam blurts out, and regrets it a second later as two confused pairs of eyes turn his way. "I—I meant on Earth," he amends. "I mean, you can do whatever you want, but you'd probably be… happier… here?" He loses his thought a few words from the end of the sentence, and trails off pathetically.

Gabriel smiles, and his eyes are so warm that Sam can practically feel the room heat up. "That was more or less the plan, yeah?"

"I dunno. I think you should just go back upstairs and stay there," Dean grumbles, and Sam whirls around to face him, about to utter a few biting reprimands, when he feels Gabriel's light touch on his back, trailing down to his back pocket and pulling his phone out with deft fingers.

"What are you doing?" he asks, a slight nervous tremble in his voice, because Gabriel has been known to be quite unpredictable at times like these. Gabriel flashes him a smile and leans back onto the windowsill, tapping away at the phone's screen.

"Putting my number in your phone 'fore I go." He finishes, and hands the phone back to Sam, fingertips lightly brushing Sam's, sending a tiny spark of electricity jumping into Sam's hand. "Text me if you need me." Gabriel pauses right before raising his hand, fingers curling into a snap. He looks at Sam, winks, and adds, "_Call_ me if you want me."

And with a snap and a flicker, he's gone.

Sam doesn't know how Gabriel knew where they were staying.

He doesn't know how Gabriel knew they needed help.

He doesn't know.

All he does know is that he can't stop grinning like an idiot, and that there are tiny white letters glowing up at him from his phone's screen, reading _Gabe, _followed by a string of numbers.

And he ignores Dean's whining and he ignores the aching left-over pain in his ribs that not even archangel healing mojo can fix and he ignores that stupid tugging thing under his sternum and just keeps on staring at the little letters on the screen.

_Gabe_.

And that one tiny little nickname says it all.


End file.
